


Nohr's Most Dutiful Son

by LazyWriterGirl



Series: Discovery, Development, Distinction [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bending, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, As in ATLA/LoK Bending, Because The Fates Timeline is Fucked Up No Matter What, Gen, I'm a Nerd Who Does Nerd Things Like This, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Some Characters Are Only Mentioned Briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-09-19 19:45:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9457832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyWriterGirl/pseuds/LazyWriterGirl
Summary: Xander was born with the gift of fire, and the curse of being crown prince to the kingdom of Nohr. As he grows, he struggles not only to master this gift, but to learn how to use it (and his other advantages) to protect the people he loves the most. Will Xander be enough, or will he prove unworthy of the flames he bears?Part introspective, part pre-canon tale, all an excuse to write a Bending!AU.





	1. Spark

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender, or Legend of Korra, or Fire Emblem:Fates. I also do not own any characters or concepts from any of the above, and make no profit from writing and sharing this work. All errors, both linguistic and otherwise, are my own.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the fiercest flames erupt from the smallest sparks.

He comes into the world with curls of pale hair and a pair of serious eyes, and he is the firstborn child of King Garon and Queen Katerina. His name is Xander, and if he survives to reach the age of majority he will be recognized as the crown prince of Nohr. It is his birthright as King Garon’s only legitimate son.

 

 

A few months later, another boy is born to the king and an unnamed woman; but he dies before he can become anything impressive.

 

 

Poisonous herbs in his milk.

 

 

A daughter is born to one of King Garon’s many concubines shortly after Xander grows into his second year. He only even knows about it because he hears Mother crying in her chamber, separate from Father’s, and she mentions his having a new little sister as she cries. The nurse in charge of Xander leaves, to give the queen and her only son their privacy. None of them knows it at the time, but her discretion will eventually earn her a night in King Garon’s bed.

Xander, who is sensitive even at his tender age, wishes to comfort his mother; but there is nothing he can do except climb into her lap and wrap his pudgy, baby-soft arms as far around her as they will go. “No cry, Mommy,” he says, which only makes Mother seem to cry all the harder.

 

She does not stop until she has fallen asleep, Xander clutched tightly to her chest.

 

Though he does not catch Mother crying about it again, little Prince Xander hears word around the castle that he has more siblings. As he grows, first one year, and then another, he hears names and ages and birth dates and learns that some, like his sister, are more newly born, while others are around his age. He doesn’t understand, but it seems as if he has siblings popping up at least once or twice a year, and he wonders how that is possible.

 

Shortly after celebrating his eighth year he walks past his mother in her chambers, only to find her crying once more. He knows that this time it is about her health. She has never said anything to him, but the maids talk. As always, they prove to be fonts of knowledge where the castle inhabitants are concerned, and Xander is already smart enough to know that when they speak, he should listen. According to them, Mother’s health has been failing for quite some time already.

 

It scares him but Mother’s cries are more terrifying still, and more imminently dealt with. Hoisting himself up onto her lap he says the one thing he thinks might be enough to pull her out of her sadness, if only for the moment.

 

“I made fire come out of my hands today.”

 

Mother’s reaction is almost instant. Her sobs slow at an almost imperceptible rate until they are silenced. Mother straightens her dress and half pushes; half pulls his small, slight frame away from her body so that she can look the young prince in the eyes.

 

His mother’s eyes are wan and red, and all Xander can think of when he looks into them is that she is fire and blood, like him, and it is because she is his mother, and he is her son.

 

“When did you do this?”

 

Xander doesn’t recognize the tone underlying his mother’s voice, the urgency in it more alien to him than anything else he has heard. “I was training with C-Camilla,” he says, though he knows his mother won’t appreciate mention of the fierce little girl he proudly calls his sister in his head and heart, if not out loud.

“That child…you must be wary of that child, Xander. She is dangerous,” Mother says, and Xander nods even though his stomach feels heavy with guilt.

 

 

He is the eldest of King Garon’s children, heir apparent to the throne of Nohr, and he is a dutiful son.

 

It still feels as if he is betraying his sister, and while Xander could see himself doing just that so easily to any of the others, he cannot bear to think he could betray Camilla.

 

 

He can pretend with most of the other children, can look at them and see nothing more than the greed in all of their mothers’ hearts, their wishes running counter to the best interests of himself and his own mother, but he cannot deny his sister. Camilla is six years old and already a flower in the barren harshness of the courtyards of Castle Krakenburg. Xander loves her more than he knows it is safe to do. There is something about her that is different from the rest; she reminds him of himself, only better than he was at her age, better than he _is_ even now. Camilla may be only six years old, but she is strong and she is able, enduring despite the reality of life as the child of a concubine.

 

 

She is Nohrian perfection in peak form, even if Father does not seem to notice her.

 

 

“Xander, my dear, have you told your father about the fire?” Mother asks, and suddenly he is afraid. Camilla flutters out of his thoughts and he is dumped back into the room, with Mother’s red eyes and Mother’s strange tone of voice—restrained, yet almost agitated. Excited.

Xander fiddles with the beads adorning his mother’s hair. “Not yet, Mother.”

“You must tell him now. Come, I will go with you.”

 

 

***

 

 

Father is tall, taller than Xander remembers him being last they saw each other, which was only a few nights before. He wears the frown that Xander knows is his natural expression, but when Mother speaks to tell him the news Father’s eyes light up with something that Xander would call excitement on anybody else. On his father, it can only be called expectation. Without waiting to be told, Xander jumps back from his mother.

He tries to remember the look of Camilla’s small body directly across from him, a practice axe in her grip, wind nipping at her hair even though he cannot remember a breeze being present. The memory comes to him easily, and without another thought he shoots his arm forward, one still-small hand clenched into a tight ball.

A thin line of flame appears from his fist and instinctively Xander pushes out with the other arm, surprised when another line of flame appears before him so quickly. Bringing his fists in, toward himself, he then pivots on one foot. Not entirely aware of what he is doing, the young prince feels, rather than sees, his opposite leg as it soars into the air. This time there is a slightly thicker burst of fire, but it is shorter-lived than the rest.

When he brings his leg back down Xander is tired, but proud for some reason he cannot explain.

Father smiles strangely before laughing his familiar, heavy laugh. Xander does not know if he should be smiling or not but Father seems well-pleased, which is rare and good. Mother relaxes ever so slightly, a blush rising on her face when Father’s arm circles her waist and pulls her in close. “He takes after you then, Katerina,” Father says, though he does not seem overly disappointed. “Our son wields fire, the element of _power_.” There is relish in his voice that Xander has only rarely heard, and he does not understand it.

“Are you p-pleased, Father?” He tries his best to mask the boyish hopefulness in his voice, and Father does not seem to notice.

“Yes, my son,” he says instead. “From now on, you will train with Iago. He will teach you how to wield your fire.” The smile has not left Father’s face and Xander smiles back, though Father is looking somewhere else and not at him.

“What do you say, Xander?” asks his mother, and Xander bows when his father’s eyes turn on him at last.

“Thank you very much, Father. I will do my best.”

“As you should,” Father says. “It’s about time you stopped frolicking about the courtyard like a child, and took your training seriously.”

Xander pales. “D-does this mean I can’t train with the others anymore?” He knows that “train” is not quite the right word; all that they do in the courtyard is play at training.

Father’s smile, only slightly diminished, tells Xander that he understands what is meant even when he asks, “With whom do you train, my son?”

“C-Camilla, mostly,” Xander says, though he does his best to inject as much pride as he can into his voice. He is so proud of his sister.

 

A sentiment not shared by their father, apparently.

 

Upon hearing the girl’s name Father spits— _actually spits_ —and his smile is replaced by a vicious snarl. “ _That_ _girl_.” Father’s eyes flash with rage as he looks down at his son. Xander feels himself tremble. “That girl will _never_ be your sister, Xander. Never! Now leave me, your presence causes me undue irritation.” His grip on Xander’s mother slackens, and King Garon turns away in disgust.

 

Xander hears him muttering, “… _worthless girl_ ” and “ _wretched heir_ …” before his mother ushers him away. He does not ask anyone about it, but the next time—the last time, perhaps—that he sees Camilla, he gives her the biggest hug he can manage, repeating everything that he had seen and heard. He pauses at the “worthless girl” and “wretched heir” parts, but includes them as well, and after he does this he tells her how much he loves her as she cries into his shoulder.

 

He doesn’t understand why she would cry, but he keeps his silence and simply holds his sister, hoping that whatever it is, it will pass soon enough.

 

 

***

 

 

Only two weeks later Mother is found dead, and Father does not look at Xander for days and days afterwards.

 

From then on Xander finds that he is mostly alone, and to remedy these feelings he throws himself at his lessons with zeal; all of them, though in particular he trains in the art of the sword and, more importantly, the mastery of fire; the last of his mother’s gifts to him.

 

Apart from his memories, small knickknacks, and clothes he will soon grow out of, the fire is all he has left of her.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

A year later, Father announces his marriage to one of his new court spellcasters. Her name is Arete, and she has a beautiful little daughter named Azura, who becomes the first named princess of Nohr. Xander likes Arete well enough—unlike the other nobles she has always been kind to him.

 

 

Upon speaking with the maids, he learns that Azura is five years old and wiser than she should be, but he gets the feeling that there’s something else that they’re not saying; after all, Azura always seems sad.

 

 

He sees his new sister alone in the courtyard one lazy afternoon, and decides that it might be smart to get to know her a little better. She is singing to herself, and he becomes aware that she is a light not often found in Nohr. She is too bright for the darkness of this place. Too good.

Xander sees her loneliness encroaching upon her, sees the way the darkness has already begun to cling to her pretty white dress. Azura reminds him of himself only one year ago, after Mother’s death. She is so, so alone, and he introduces himself in hopes that they can be friends. Though wary she accepts his friendship, and he calls her “little sister” because it brings a smile to her face.

 

 

 

He does not find out until later, but Iago watches them as they play together; and Iago tells Father what he has seen.

 

 

 

When Xander is told not to seek out his little sister’s company, he is confused. Is Azura not a princess? Is she not his sister? To some extent he can understand when Camilla tells him of her own mother’s instructions to her to leave Azura alone, but _he_ is crown prince of Nohr. Why should he not get to know the lonely little girl with the golden eyes and the pale blue hair, so sullen and quiet for so young a child?

Still, Xander is a dutiful son of Nohr, and he does what he is told, avoiding the courtyard unless it is time to train, or on the best of days, when both he and Camilla manage to escape the wardens who govern their time. They enjoy little adventures in the glade by the castle, he sharing stories of his lessons and his training; she tells him about their siblings, only mentioning her lessons in passing.

 

He gets the sense that she is holding something back, but the weight in her eyes tells him not to ask.

 

 

 

When Iago trains him he does his best to keep his eyes on the dark mage, avoiding the eyes of the other children and their mothers. He does his best to ignore the tears on Azura’s face when he sees her, miserable, surrounded by his father’s concubines. He does his best to ignore how Camilla eyes him with vague disappointment before turning to the crying girl.

In taking a firm stance in front of Azura, Camilla proves—yet again—that she is braver than he is, and he is ashamed of himself. That feeling only grows when his sister, with her pretty lilac curls and her sweet voice, rounds on Father’s concubines an unfamiliar breeze whipping at her hair. Though she is small, there is something almost menacing about her as she lays into the cruel women with words _far_ too sharp and stinging to have come from a mind so young. Or at least, that’s his opinion on things.

Xander does not know _precisely_ what Camilla says—the words being caught up in the breeze—but he is awestruck by how so young a girl can command so many women. Surely there can be no other word for it _but_ command, as Camilla shakes her head, gesturing to Azura, and all his siblings’ mothers depart with pale faces and lips pulled into tight, worried lines. He thinks he catches Azura’s whisper of thanks. Xander knows he does not imagine the quick embrace that Camilla enfolds Azura in, and he is glad that at the very least, they have each other.

He does his best to ignore Camilla’s cries when her mother, rough and uncaring, drags her away from Azura and back into the castle, where he knows his sister will be beaten for disobeying orders. From what Camilla has shared with him, he knows her mother can be brutal in her punishments, and Xander worries but holds his tongue. He can do nothing.

 

Within him the fire burns more strongly, and he trains with a fervour he has never before been known to possess. Camilla’s mother stops bringing her to the courtyard shortly before Camilla’s seventh birthday, and Xander is left without his constant companion. It seems that he is not the only one affected by her absence, either. Almost immediately after Camilla’s confinement begins, Azura is kept inside the castle on most days; to protect her from the worst of the nobles, Queen Arete explains to him, and Xander knows better than to try to visit Azura when the courtiers stalk the castle halls.

 

 

Here he is, alone once again.

 

 

The rumours of Camilla’s punishment are all he can hear for the next few days, replaced only by the whispers of more and more maltreatment against Azura. He clenches his fists each time a new story reaches his notice. He is sick of this feeling, this uselessness.

 

One day he will be strong enough to protect his sisters.

 

He will use the fire his mother gave to him, and he will protect them from the wolves of the Nohrian court.

 

 

 

 

 

As if in agreement, the tips of his fingers alight with sparks.


	2. Ember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the ashes of one flame are born new embers.

Months pass, and Xander is beginning to grow closer and closer to the sky though each day that dies reminds him of how much he misses his mother.

Queen Arete is beautiful and kind, and her voice is sweet when she speaks to Xander, as if he were her own son. She cannot be his mother and she never will be, but he can see himself growing to love her in his own way, in time. It does not mean that he loves Katerina any less, but Queen Arete…Queen Arete is kinder than any of his siblings’ mothers would have been, and for that, he is grateful.

Unlike his mother, Queen Arete has power over water. When he is burned and bloodied from Iago’s training, she is the first to offer him recovery. Xander wonders if Azura will one day have the same power, but he does not wonder for too long. He is not allowed to wonder after her, after all.

 

Thinking about his little sister is sometimes more painful than he can bear.

 

 

***

 

 

            A few months before the dawning of his tenth year, another little girl is brought to the castle. Father claims she is his child, but Xander knows better by now. The girl is delicate-featured, but strong-willed, and her red eyes and white hair are unlike anything Xander has ever seen in the courts of Nohr. Unlike anything he has ever seen on any of the other children.

 

When she speaks, which is only twice in his presence, her voice is accented and strange.

Whoever she is, she is not a daughter of Nohr.

 

Her name, as Father tells him, is Corrin, and at four—almost five—years of age, she is the second princess of Nohr. Xander wonders which of the elements Corrin can control, or if she can control any of them at all. He does not think that Father would give her a title if she could not control any of them.

 

 

He has heard rumours that some of his siblings were born that way, but what has become of those children he does not know.

 

 

Corrin’s stay at Castle Krakenburg is short, very short, and then she is being sent away to the Northern Fortress and Xander has lost yet another little sister. Queen Arete visits the fortress more than anybody else, and sometimes she takes Azura with her. Xander is glad that at least Azura has somebody outside of the castle walls, though he does wonder why his stepmother and stepsister have taken to the strange, red-eyed girl so much. At the very least, he’s glad that when Azura returns from the Northern Fortress, it is always with a smile on her face.

 

From what he has heard, the nobles have only grown more abusive towards her, and though he does not like it he cannot protect her. Not yet.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

When Xander is ten years old he comes to hear about a child known as Leo. The boy is blond like him, with eyes like his, but otherwise so pretty and delicate looking that at first glance Xander had mistaken him for a girl. In spite of the child’s fairy features, Father is pleased with the boy already, and though Xander’s baby brother is barely three years old it is only a matter of time before Father officially recognizes him as a prince of Nohr. At least, that appears to be what all the courtiers are saying.

Try as he might to ignore them, their words do sometimes carry weight; there is trouble in the Nohrian court, trouble of which he and his siblings are somehow a part. Azura, targeted though she is, is spared some of the vicious hatred that begins to spread. She, at least, is not Garon’s birth child.

 

For the time being, Xander realizes that he should focus on those who were unfortunate enough to be born to one of his father’s many women, and so, though it pains him, he leaves thoughts of lonely little Azura hidden away.

 

Leo very quickly becomes a name that is whispered throughout the halls, and Xander struggles day in and day out to keep on top of the news. What, he wonders, is so remarkable about this little brother that the whole castle should be set upon its head? Xander spends much of his free time thinking, asking, wondering what it could be.

Given Father’s fascination with Leo, most of the other children have continued on unnoticed, but in times of reflection Xander remembers his sister Camilla. She would be seven, no, eight years old now, he thinks, though he has not seen her since that last day in the courtyard. Azura’s tears, Camilla’s cries, they are a marker of his failures as an older brother.

Though he is lonely, and unsure of what has befallen her, Xander holds on to faith that Camilla will grow well. When she does, Xander knows their father’s eyes will fall on her. Father will take pride in her. It is only a matter of time and Xander wonders if, when that time comes, she will be able to shoot fire from her hands like he can. He wonders how much better than him she will be in spite of the two years that separate them.

 

He keeps his ears open when the maids gossip about the concubines and their children, but he never hears about Camilla or her mother, Lady Velda.

In some ways, he is glad.

He is frightened to think of a day when Camilla’s death is the content of the gossip, and he prays to the Dusk Dragon to keep his sister safe every night. At least, as safe as one can be in her position, which he has gathered as being precarious at best.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Against his better judgement, Xander asks Iago about how Camilla has been faring during one of their morning lessons.

 

They are training in a section of the courtyard that is not normally used anyway, and Xander’s eyes strain toward the rest of the children with ill-disguised yearning. He thinks that he sees a familiar shade of purple amongst the black-haired and blonde-headed children lounging about in the sparse grass. Shaking his head, Xander tries to turn away. Though he knows that he should be focused on his training, there is something strange pulling him.

For the first time in months his resolve slips, and he feels Iago’s gaze weigh on him. “Iago…have you any news of Lady Velda’s daughter, Camilla? My sister?”

 Iago is frightening, though not so much as Father, and yet Xander does not remember why he is afraid of the man until he has asked his question. The newly-styled sorcerer does not speak at first, and Xander repeats the question. Iago’s answer is to immediately summon Father, who sends Xander reeling with a backhanded blow to the face. From his place on the ground Xander watches as Camilla, who seems to have little Leo clinging to her tunic, notes the commotion at their edge of the courtyard. She makes as if to run for him, grasping one of tiny Leo’s hands. The other is outstretched toward her fallen brother.

 

“Don’t come any closer, girl, or the same will befall _you_ ,” says Father coldly, so coldly, and Camilla falters. Her eyes, their vibrancy almost overwhelming even in the pale Nohrian sunlight, fall on her brother. Xander can see tears on her cheeks. He wonders how long it’s been since her mother deigned to allow her back outside.

 

He tries his best to shake his head, but he dares not speak when Father is so close to him, so angry.

 

“Yes, Fa—Your Majesty,” she says instead, and she begins to back away, eyes never leaving her brother’s bruised, already swelling face. Leo clamours for her attention, and with surprising strength Camilla takes the little boy into her arms. She turns away from Xander, but with such reluctance that it seems to him that she is barely moving at all.

“Girl,” Father says, “Bring my son to me.” Camilla is sharp enough to know that King Garon means Leo.

She looks between the child in her arms and the man who beckons her. Xander tries to nod, and he thinks she can see him because she mirrors the twitch of his head with her own.

Leo’s weight proves to be a little too much, even for her, and she all but drops him at their father’s feet as Xander struggles to pick himself up off the ground. “Goodbye, Leo,” he hears her say, and she whispers his own name before retreating to the opposite corner of the courtyard, where Xander can just barely make out the figure of a woman with hair the same lovely colour as his sister’s. The woman’s eyes blaze with anger as she watches her daughter’s approach, livid gaze sometimes switching to Father.

This…this is Camilla’s mother. The brutal mother she had told him of time and again. The woman he had watched pull her away.

Lady Velda raises her hand, clearly in anger, but the bruised prince cannot call out to her to stop because Father has one of his own hands, heavy and hard, on Xander’s shoulder, squeezing. The other is on Leo’s head, strangely gentle by comparison as Father whispers something that Xander cannot hear. Xander watches the tiny child kick at the ground. On any other of his siblings in that age group, he would think it to be childish indignation, but coming from Leo it is an all-too-deliberate motion.

The result is a ripple of earth being uprooted, the line of wreckage extending out until it is almost half the length of the courtyard. Children standing by to watch the scene all run to the relative safety of their mothers’ arms, away from Leo, away from their father and his slimy second-in-command.

Away from their ashamed eldest brother.

Father laughs grandly and picks the fey-faced boy up, hoisting him proudly onto his shoulders. “Well done, my son!” A blonde woman with brown eyes like Xander’s own mother’s runs up and clings to Father’s arm. His old nurse. Xander is angered when Father does not push her away, but King Garon does not notice the way his eldest born looks at him. Instead, he favours the woman with a smile as she coos at the boy on his shoulders. He allows her to cling to his arm.

 

That should be Mother, Xander’s head screams, but his mother is dead and that is impossible. His head screams again, this time for Queen Arete’s sake, but he knows enough not to voice such dangerous thoughts. One large bruise from Father is more than enough for him at the moment. At the very least, it will not stop him from training.

 

Not in the same way a broken bone would.

 

“My son,” says Father, not looking at anyone, but up at the tall spires of Castle Krakenburg, “From this day forward you are Prince Leo of Nohr!”

The woman beside Father squeals and Xander would punch her, or set her ablaze if such barbarity were not completely inappropriate for the crown prince of Nohr. Instead he smiles and waits for Father to address him. His brother’s eyes are shrewd for a toddler, more intelligent than Xander thinks is right for one so small.

“As for _you_ ,” Father begins, eyes hard once more as he stares down at his eldest son, “From now on you will train at a proper training ground with Iago.”

“W-what about my brother?” Xander asks. Leo’s fairy-haired head tilts as if to say, “ _yes, what about me?_ ”

Father steadies the boy atop his shoulders before saying, “He will be trained.”

 

As Father takes the boy away, the woman following, Xander gets the feeling that Leo will be trained by King Garon himself, and he is unsure if he envies or pities the boy.

 

“Hmph. You heard you father, Lord Xander,” says Iago’s dark, smarmy voice. “I will see you tomorrow, bright and early. We have _much_ to do if you want to keep your place as crown prince of Nohr.”

Xander scowls because he understands the implication loud and clear. Leo is only three years old, _three_ , but there is something almost threatening about him. Xander will have to work hard if he wants to keep his place in Father’s favour, and he knows it. It doesn’t quite stop him from hating Iago’s wicked grin, but it is something to hold on to.

As he waits for Iago’s form to turn the corner and leave him in peace, Xander punches a line of fire straight down the courtyard, following his brother’s trail, and despite himself he wishes away the flame that licks at the air before disappearing.

 

 

In his mind he has torn the earth apart even further, and Father is smiling and laughing for _him_.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Only three weeks later Nohr officially meets Princess Camilla for the first time; and Xander is so, so proud of her. He does not know what has changed Father’s mind, only that is has been changed, and he moves to congratulate Camilla, Princess of Nohr.

His beloved sister.

She looks at him with eyes so weary that he is taken aback. Camilla is different somehow, and Xander at once feels as if he doesn’t quite know the girl who stands before him swathed in a dark dress and a darker smile. She appears unhappy, and he cannot blame her. Theirs is a world that looks better to outsiders than to the people living in it.

“I…” he is shocked to find that he has nothing to say. Camilla is his sister, his own blood. “I…am sorry for your loss, Camilla.”

“I hadn’t realized that it was customary to speak of mourning during coronation ceremonies,” she says. She is so young, only eight years old (almost nine), but Camilla’s voice holds more gravity than his. She plays with the tones it holds, the misdirecting lilt a sign that her voice, as with the rest of her, will be as deadly as it is beautiful when she ages.

 

A sign that his sister, still so young, has been taught how to play the games of the Nohrian—games of manipulation and deceit.

 

“M-my apologies! I meant to congratulate you first, of course, b—

“Calm yourself, big brother, I was only joking with you,” she says, and the smile she wears does not quite reach her eyes. Xander is worried for her, but he cannot say more for fear that Iago or Father will hear.

Instead he says, “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” she says, though he catches the whisper of something else, something he can’t quite hear. When she notices the way his entire body strains itself in an effort to make sense of her last utterance, she repeats herself, the same not-yet-deadly lilt colouring each word. “This is what Mother always wanted for me. A shame that she isn’t here to see it.”

Xander can’t say that he is surprised by the lack of emotion in her tone.

Though the circumstances surrounding Lady Velda’s death have not been released, all the castle staff agrees that Camilla is none the worse-for-wear without her mother’s presence. It is a shameful thought, but he is almost glad that Lady Velda is dead. One less person to hurt his family.

 

For a short time, Xander thinks that he could be happy. That he and Camilla and Leo could find some semblance of normalcy together, as siblings, as the princes and princess of Nohr. Queen Arete is kind to all of them.

 

Then, Azura is taken.

 

Then, Queen Arete dies.

 

Then, Xander learns of another sibling, a little girl named Elise, just barely half a year old, and he vows to protect her, at least, from her mother and the other concubines. He learns that she has been passed off to a wet nurse, a woman named Cassita, and he watches from a distance, knowing that to show Elise favour would be to kill her. Instead, and Camilla train, including Leo once he gets to be a little older.

 

They grow.

 

They get stronger.

 

They fight.

 

As the embers of a once-quiet war between his father’s concubines begin to grow, begins to rage into a wildfire, Xander holds his siblings close. He will protect them. They are all he has. Camilla and Leo and Elise. Corrin in her fortress.

 

In his hands, the embers of his own fire begin to burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Leo is an earth bender! Why? Because I wanted one...and because I just feel like he'd be like a lil mini Toph, in a way. And also because of Brynhildr!
> 
> Anyway, just also thought to leave a quick note that the next update for this fic won't be coming until the **first week of March** because Femslash February is happening and my friend and I are doing a prompt exchange sort of thing. Sorry!


	3. Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From sparks to embers to burning flames.

Along with three siblings within the court and one safely tucked away at the Northern Fortress, Xander survives the time of the warring concubines. It is a struggle, and he hates almost every waking moment of it, but by the time the dust has cleared only he, Camilla, Corrin, Leo, and Elise remain. Father has become cold, but Xander continues to believe in him, to believe in Nohr. His mother had done that, had taught him to do it, and he holds fast not only because he believes in Nohr with everything he, but because it is his mother’s legacy; it’s all he has of left of her.

 

Just his convictions and the sparks, the embers that he has nurtured ever since he was a boy.

 

It is with this fire that Xander becomes a hero of Nohr, a champion of the people. It is with this fire that Xander earns his father’s approval, a precious thing in the light of the days—the _years_ —of darkness. Even Leo’s reputation does not extend past his own, and Xander becomes the embodiment of Nohrian excellence. Nobody needs to know how much he has given of himself to achieve this level of strength.

Aside from Camilla, his siblings are none the wiser, thinking that he has always been gifted, and Xander does not correct them.

Once jealous, he is now pleased that it was Leo who had inherited their father’s gift instead of him. Had they been the same, he worries that Leo would have outpaced him long ago; Leo would have learned to summon lightning, Xander thinks—it is something that he himself has never been able to do, no matter what he tries to do. In a way, however, he thinks that it was meant to be this way; he and his three siblings each represent one of the four elements, and represent the hope for all Nohr in this balance.

 

At least, that is what Corrin has taken to saying, and Xander appreciates the sentiment.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Over time, Xander’s thoughts towards the elemental gifts become less sentimental; more militarized, perhaps, and he does not feel remorse for the passing of these romantic ideas; after all, the man he is _now_ is the man his father had always wanted him to be. The man he is _now_ is (publicly) afraid of no one, not even King Garon—though in his heart he still cowers before his father—and he is one of the finest soldiers in all the world.

At two-and-twenty he is officially recognized as the undisputed future king of Nohr, and the general of the Nohrian army. His life changes drastically after that. Now, more than ever before, the servants kowtow before him. Women—young and old—throw themselves at his feet the way they did (and still do) his father’s. Men bow to him in the streets, so deeply that their spines seem almost unable to bear the stress. Children salute him, and the bolder amongst them even ask if he would show them a few of his techniques.

 

Xander is celebrated. Xander is loved. Xander’s fire is quieted slightly, as he is now safe…or at least, as safe as he can be when he is off risking his life in skirmishes with the Hoshidans and the quashing of many a rebellion. Even with that in mind, his life is better than he would have thought despite the troubles that plague his people daily. Sometimes, however, as he practices with his blade and his fire, weaving together swordplay and his elemental gift, he wonders if all of this, if any of it was worth it.

 

_Any_ of it; any of the training, any of the battles… any of the survival that he has lost sleep over.

 

The people of Nohr talk about him in hushed whispers, careful to keep their words hidden. This, of course, means that he is all too aware of their words. They call him the Fire Lord, which would be fine except that his father does not approve of the title. The people don’t care; they still use the name. They say that Xander channels his own fire into the dark flames that wreathe the holy blade Siegfried, empowering an already legendary weapon. They would not be _wrong_ , per se, but Xander does not confirm the rumours, not even when asked in court.

After all, sometimes it feels as though it is Siegfried that empowers him, that brings out the best of his fire; he cannot say with any certainty if he has ever augmented its power with his own.

As for Xander himself, well, if he’s honest, of his siblings _he_ is the one who has had to work this hard to become so natural with the use of his gift; though only Camilla knows of the extent of his diligence. Even then, she does not know all; does not know of the early days, when he would cry for hours because of his inability to do _more;_ does not know of the nature of the countless sacrifices he has made on his way to becoming the man he is now.

He has lost so much.

 

True, he has gained much in return but…

 

Some nights he lies awake in thinking of all the lives extinguished in the brutality of days long gone, and his heart, stouter than it had been in his boyhood, still breaks. After all, he had known many of his siblings by name, at least. He had watched them grow slowly, slowly, until their young lives were cut down; sometimes by other siblings.

Of course, having been protected by law and his mother’s status—deceased though she has been for so many years—Xander knows that he cannot possibly understand the terror, the pain that must have been felt by the children of his father’s many women. Sometimes he wonders if he should ask Leo or Camilla, but he knows that to do so would be unfair to them.

He had seen their mothers’ rages for himself, had witnessed—even if only from a distance—Lady Velda’s physical abuse, to say nothing for the harsh, _cruel_ words that had surely spilled from Leo’s mother’s lips at every opportunity. He knows, at least somewhat, of the horrors that his siblings have had to endure at the hands of their mothers, and the other concubines. Xander does not _understand_ , of course, but he does know that such memories must be difficult to look back on.

 

Difficult for caring Camilla and stoic Leo to move past, though they have so far done an admirable job of moving on.

 

Camilla has, with much time, come to share some things, some _very_ small tidbits of information, but Leo never does—not with Xander, at least—and Xander knows that he cannot complain. The knowledge that they might at least be able to confide in each other leaves him free to dote on Elise, who had been too young to truly understand the darkness of those desperate years.  Camilla and Leo are both stronger than he, at any rate—the strongest man and woman Xander knows, really; and so the eldest of King Garon’s children sits quietly by and tries to understand his siblings’ need for space.

 

For time.

 

For healing.

 

As he has come to find out (only through piecing together many snippets of conversation) many of his countless siblings’ deaths—particularly in the early days, before Elise’s birth and the shift from a bloody war to a war of words and favours—had been performed by his two brilliant siblings. He never does find it in himself to blame them. Their mothers had been the ones, cruel and twisted and greedy, who had wanted those things; not them. All Camilla had ever wanted was a family, Xander knows, and Leo—who prides himself now on being a brother—had been so young; too young to know that what his mother had asked of him was wrong.

Watching how careful they are now, how gentle with Elise (and with Corrin, who is younger than even their youngest sister in some ways), Xander can see the regret that they still carry. The hatred for the women who had birthed them. He feels for them, but Xander has not been raised to show his feelings so openly, and so he does not often reach out a comforting hand although he can see that they need it.

 

He does not think that his fire could help them very much.

 

Instead, he watches Camilla take on the role; a natural at it, as she is with everything else that she puts her mind to. He watches Leo dive into his books and his magic with a level of skill and understanding that he could never hope to have. He watches them allow Elise to be the light of their hearts, and he is glad that this, at least, has not been taken away.

 

Not like those poor, countless others.

 

Though Xander mourns every loss, and does his best to visit every tiny grave, sometimes he cannot help but simply be proud of the survivors, glad that it had been they who had pulled through until the breaking of dawn over the Nohrian court. Camilla, Leo, and Elise are his entire world. _And Corrin, of course,_ his mind supplements, but he had always had a different set of worries concerning Corrin. After all, he is sure that by now they are _all_ aware of who Corrin’s birth family is.

There is just an air of difference in everything about her. In her eyes and her hair and the faint accent that lingers though their father had ordered it trained out of her. She is built differently than them, too; delicate in a way that does not match Elise’s own delicacy; not tall enough or shaped the same as Camilla. Even when she moves, she is different, something that Xander knows well. After all, it had been he and he alone who had been tasked with training Corrin in the way of the sword, and though she is highly-skilled, she does not fight the way a Nohrian fights.

Not that it matters, really, because she is Corrin, Princess of _Nohr,_ no matter how different she might be from the rest of the Nohrian royals. _They_ are the family that has loved her all these years, has looked after her as best they could whenever they were together. It was _he_ who had taught Corrin how to wield a blade, and Camilla who had stood as the younger girl’s closest thing to a mother when she had been missing a comforting female touch. It was Leo who taught Corrin how to read, and Elise who played with her when nobody else could.

 

She’s _their_ sibling; _they’re_ her family, and nothing can change that.

 

And, as Xander continues to develop his skills—training just as hard as he always has—his determination to keep things that way only strengthens. After all, what had he started down this path for? Aside from his father’s approval and the good of all Nohr, all that Xander has ever wanted is to keep his family together. To keep his family safe.

 

His hands, no longer shaky, are aflame with the very thought.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Xander is five-and-twenty when his father decides that it is time for Corrin to join the rest of her siblings. The crown prince receives the order himself, after a strategy meeting, and he sees no reason to question his father. After all, this is the day that he and his siblings have long waited for. To say that he is pleased would be an understatement. Corrin is a young woman now, and it is high time that she sees the world up close instead of having to glean snippets of sight from the high windows of her fortress.

 

Xander makes the necessary preparations immediately, and it is only two days later that he and his siblings stand together before Castle Krakenburg, ready to ride out towards where their dear sister Corrin awaits them. Or at least, _Xander_ is ready. Elise is her usually bright, cheery self, but Leo is nowhere to be found. Camilla, as Xander well knows, is either sharing fond farewells with her retainers, else already above them, flying with Marzia in preparation for the long journey ahead.

He tries to keep his tone light when he turns to his youngest sister, hoping that she won’t think him rude. “Come now, Elise, you mustn’t dawdle. You know how long the voyage to the Northern Fortress is.”

“Yes, big brother,” says Elise, excitement spilling from her lips like the water she pours into the canteen she has carried since discovering her gift. “Oh, but wait! Look at what I can do now!”

Xander turns to watch her, allowing himself to smile. Their father is nowhere to be seen, preparing, if Xander remembers correctly, for a trip to Cyrkensia. They can afford to enjoy themselves a little now, though the true fun will not occur until they are together with their Corrin once again. “Show me, Elise,” he says, wishing to humour her. In the last few years she has distanced herself from him somewhat, and he knows that it is because the Xander of five-and-twenty is far more stern and warlike than the Xander of three years past. Far more distant than the Xander of Elise’s earliest days.

 

It is in these small moments that he tries his best to show Elise how well he still cares.

 

Elise giggles and twirls, fingers stroking the air as they dance, but it is not the air that Xander is meant to watch, and he knows that. Instead his eyes take in the sight of ribbons of water fluttering about, as if they were material. Elise spins, and the water follows, then raises her hand quickly, dancing with the water as if it were a banner in the wind. Xander claps and allows himself to laugh—though not too boisterously, not yet. “Well done, dear Elise.”

“Yes, yes, well done. But that’s enough playing,” says Leo as he enters, arms crossed with the mild impatience that seems to haunt Xander’s little brother in his every movement. “We are going to be _late_ if you don’t stop this instant, and we all know how Camilla gets if she feels that she’s missing even a second of time with her precious Corrin.”

The bitterness in his brother’s voice is concerning, but Xander cannot find it within himself to question the younger man. Leo has proven himself to naturally be everything that Xander had never dreamed of being without countless hours of work and yet more hard work—self-confident and effortlessly brilliant; a soldier of perfectly calculated action. A prince in bearing and appearance…even if his collar is turned the wrong way out _yet_ again. Xander doesn’t mention it.

 

The last thing that he wishes to do is to make his brother feel that he is coddling him.

 

“Oh, Leo! I was _just_ getting to the best part!”

 

“I’m sure that Corrin would love to watch your dance, Elise,” says Xander, trying to diffuse any tension that might erupt between the youngest children of House Nohr. “And I would love to see it in its entirety, but Leo is right about the potential for lateness. If we wish to make the most of our visit with Corrin, we must leave now. So, for now, put the water away and save your strength. The journey always takes quite a toll from you.”

Elise does as requested, flicking her fingers down towards the mouth of the canteen. “Okay, Xander.” The youngest princess of Nohr pokes her tongue out at Leo before getting up onto her horse, and Leo follow suit soon after. Xander allows himself one last sweep of the courtyard before he too is mounted.

He looks up into the sky and waves, knowing that his sister will see him. Her eyes have always been keen. Camilla, already in the air with her dear Marzia, swoops down to the ground The revenant wyvern’s eyes bore into his for a moment, as they always do, and Xander is pleased when none of their horses does not so much as flinch; after all, their mounts should be well used to Marzia by now.

“Shall we then, my dear siblings?” asks Camilla in her usual sultry tone. Xander smiles at her and nods, and he is about to nudge his horse forward when he hears footfalls against stone. He knows, without turning, who it will be, though he would much rather not speak to the man.

It is Leo who addresses their unwanted company with a restrained, “Iago.”

“Your father wishes you a safe journey,” says the man’s slithery voice. “And he would like you to know that he expects you all to be returned by the time his visit to Cyrkensia has concluded. _With_ Lady Corrin, of course.”

 

Iago’s smarmy grin forces bile to rise in Xander’s throat.

 

He remembers that same grin, remembers it from all the times he’d failed to do something “simple” with his fire. From all the times he and Camilla had trained together, first as children, then as young adults. From all the times Xander’s father had sided with the sorcerer instead of one of his one children. From all the times…

 

Well, none of that matters now.

 

Iago had never been a warm teacher, possibly never been a warm _man_ at all, and Xander suppresses the urge to shudder at the sorcerer’s presence. He had never quite gotten used to the feeling of Iago’s aura; it has always been, to Xander’s memory, prickling and cold, yet…almost slimy. Iago’s gaze—as cold and unpleasant as the rest of him—seems to linger on Camilla and Elise for a moment longer than necessary, and Xander maneuvers his horse between the man and his youngest sister. From the corner of his eye he sees Leo’s horse edge closer to Marzia.

 

There had been rumours about girls of the palace staff, before, (strangely) unfounded ones, but Iago is not a man to be trusted around young women; this much, they all know.

 

Xander nods down to Iago stiffly, trying his best to appear ominous from atop his horse. He has personally never felt comfortable with the man, not even as a child, and he has _always_ been suspect of the sorcerer’s motives for sticking so closely to his father; Iago is, when it comes to the king, more burr or leech than man. That aside, there is simply something to him and his coldness, a certain unaffected lasciviousness that Xander cannot say that he likes. No, Iago gives off a most predatory feeling, and Xander would sooner die himself than allow the disgusting man anywhere near his family.

 

Where he could not do anything as a boy, he is most confident that now, with his fire and Siegfried in his hand, he could make short work of Iago if the need ever arose.

 

“Thank you, Iago,” says Leo, his voice as stiff as Xander feels. “We shall return with Corrin within a fortnight. See to it that Father is aware of this.”

Iago only bows, though the sneer is clear on his lips, and he leaves them without another word. Xander sees Elise tremble a bit from discomfort, but her upper lip stiffens when she notices his stare. “I’m fine. Let’s go!”

 

He can’t think of anything to say other than an enthusiastic, “Onward then, to the Northern Fortress!” The last thing he thinks as he looks upon Krakenburg is that Corrin will be so happy to finally be free.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Only days later, and Xander cannot believe that things have turned out this way. How cruel must the world be, he wonders, that of all the families from which his father might have taken Corrin it had to have been the _Hoshidans_? The Hoshidans who want to take her back now, after all these years, even though she’s found her home with Nohr.

 

They’re on the plains and Xander’s heart is racing. Siegfried is burning in his hand, wreathed in dark fire that is flaring in time with his own. How could this be happening? _How?_

 

Corrin says that she cannot choose.

 

How could Corrin walk away from them?

 

“We’re your family!” Leo’s voice—strangely affected—calls out to Corrin, who stands with a girl with aqua hair. _Azura._

Elise looks close to tears. “Big sister!”

Camilla does not scream, does not cry, but there is so much sadness in her eyes that it pains Xander to look at her. “Corrin…”

Xander can feel his head pounding as he yells across the battlefield. “Corrin! Azura! Come home to Nohr! Come home to us!”

 

Corrin is in tears.

 

She shakes her head.

 

She does not choose.

 

Xander, for all that he has only ever wanted to keep her safe, cannot help the rush of anger that rises through him as he spurs his horse into motion, charging towards the Hoshidan high prince. He will keep his sister safe, yes, but if he must drag her to Castle Krakenburg to do so, then he shall do it. This is not only his duty as a brother, but as a son of Nohr.

 

 

 

The flames that burst free of his hands agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of this!  
> Next part of the series will be either Ryouma or Camilla, haven't decided which. If you want one over the other, let me know either here or on [Tumblr](https://lazywritergirl.tumblr.com).


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